


Thou Shalt Not

by veronamay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biblical References, Drabble Collection, Gen, Gen and Slash, M/M, Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-08
Updated: 2006-09-08
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean thinks the Commandments are kind of cool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thou Shalt Not

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Dean character study of sorts based around the Commandments. Ten drabbles, not linked, from different times and places in Dean’s life. Some are Wincest, most are gen. Unbeta’d.

They aren’t men of faith.

They know the forms and texts, the rituals and symbols; but these are tools of their trade, not spiritual comforts. Dean doesn’t know if he even believes in life after death, heaven or otherwise. He doesn’t much care. And he intends to make damn sure no Winchester finds out before they absolutely have to.

The commandments, though – they’re kind of cool. He likes the idea of God literally laying down the law. He doesn’t mind rules that have a reason. And those rules? Well, they’re mostly just good sense, whether you’ve found Jesus or not.

**I: I Am The Lord Thy God**

“Devil worship is no fun,” Dean says. “Sacrificing, slavery, killing, chanting. Boring.”

“Unbeliever,” spits the priest, hands streaked with blood from – Dean hopes – a rooster. “The Dark Lord will devour your—”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean interrupts. “Hands where I can see ‘em, pal.”

The priest complies, sneering.

“Where’s the girl?”

Silence.

“Bullets _hurt_ , you know.”

Silence.

“O-kay.” Dean levels the gun.

“In there!” the priest squeaks, pointing to a door.

“Open it.”

She stumbles out, filthy but alive. Dean jangles his handcuffs.

“Try Christianity,” he advises. “They keep their sacrifices alive and dress ‘em in stupid robes. Much more entertaining.”

**II: Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me**

“You keep that up, people are gonna talk.”

Dean straightens. Sam’s leaning against the wall of the motel, grinning.

“Bite me,” Dean says, and continues polishing the Impala’s fender.

“Seriously, man. You know you’ve been out here since six?”

It’s after nine. Dean feels a sudden craving for coffee.

“Huh.” He arches his back, stretching out the ache. “You want breakfast?”

“I’m a growing boy.”

They head for the diner. At the corner, Dean looks back; she _glows_ in the sunlight.

Sam nudges him.

“It’ll be fine.”

“ _She_.”

“Whatever. Just eat, before _she_ starts talking back to you.”

If only.

**III: Thou Shalt Not Take The Name Of The Lord Thy God In Vain**

“Oh, God. Christ Jesus. Sam—”

“Fuck – Dean – just ... Jesus fucking _Christ_ ... right there, yeah – God, Dean, do that again. Yeah. God. _Yeah_.”

Sam pushes back, ass to groin, and Dean shoves in deep, feeling Sam shudder around him. Curses and blasphemies fill the air; English, Latin, Aramaic.

“ _Jesus_ , Sam—” He thrusts, and Sam _whimpers_ , tightens, and Dean thinks he sees heaven when he comes. Sam’s fisting himself; Dean hears him panting, “God, Christ, JesusMaryandJoseph—”

He pulls out, shoves Sam onto his back and gets his mouth on Sam’s cock in time to swallow.

Heaven. Yeah.

**IV: Remember The Sabbath Day**

“Up.” Sam nudges him. “It’s late.”

“Sunday.” Dean curls up tighter. “Day of rest.”

“Day of cleaning before Dad gets home.” Sam pulls the blankets off him. “Up, Dean.”

“Dude. Honour the Sabbath.” Dean rolls over. “It’s unholy to work on Sunday.”

“It’s unholy to eat pork, but still you order double bacon.”

“Leviticus doesn’t count.”

Sam sighs. “Get up, or you’ll sleep in your own bed tonight.”

Dean narrows his eyes. Sam stares right back. Damn; he’s serious.

“Fine. I’m up, okay?”

“Start with the laundry.” Sam throws the blankets at him.

“Slavedriver.”

“You like sleeping alone?”

“I’m _going_!”

**V: Honour Thy Father And Thy Mother**

Fourth grade, Illinois: Dean’s first fight. The catalyst: three wannabe bullies.

“I heard she burned up,” Ricky taunted. “Fried to a crisp.”

“And your dad was too drunk to save her,” Ben sneered.

“Papa Winchester’s an alkie!” Taylor shoved Dean’s shoulder. “And your mom’s a crispy critter. Your family are _freaks_.”

“You done?”

They looked puzzled. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Can we fight already? Things to do, fellas.”

Three punches and it was over. He watched them stagger away, his knuckles stinging. Then he got Sammy from kindergarten, took him home, turned on Thundercats and locked himself in the bathroom.

**VI: Thou Shalt Not Kill**

What scares him afterward is that he never faltered. Sam was half-dead on the ground, the demon beating his face to pulp, and Dean drew and fired in one motion without considering the consequences. There was a human being still in that body, and he killed him. And it didn’t bother him. Still doesn’t. If he has to, he’ll do it again.

What kind of man does that make him?

He sees Sam walking around, pouring salt lines and checking windows, and he can’t be sorry. They’re alive, safe, together. Dad’s there. He’ll deal with the rest later.

“It’s coming.”

**VII: Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery**

It’s not cheating. Jess is dead. Sam’s grieving, but he’s not saying no, and that’s the only thing that’d make Dean pull back. Sam needs this. It’s familiar, comforting, even as the spine-melting heat and sweat-slick-slide of their bodies makes Dean’s vision go white. He’s _missed_ this.

Sam was his before he was hers. Sam will be his for as long as he lives. He _belongs_ to Dean, in ways Jess could never have imagined. A ring and some words could never compete.

Sam won’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. His body says everything Dean needs to hear.

**VIII: Thou Shalt Not Steal**

This is embarrassing.

Sam’s smirking. Dad’s disappointed. Dean shuffles his feet while the desk sergeant gives him his stuff.

“Thanks,” he says.

“See you soon.”

Funny.

The drive home is quiet. Dean’s waiting for Dad to speak. Sam dozes in the back.

“You’re seventeen,” Dad says. “Too old for this.”

Dean winces.

“I’m sorry, Dad. But we’re short on—”

“I don’t mean that.” Dad’s eyes flick over, away. “I can’t bail you out forever. They catch you as an adult, you’ll do time.”

“Juvenile records—”

“Still have fingerprints.”

_Fuck._

“Yessir.”

He looks in the mirror. Sam’s awake now.

**IX: Thou Shalt Not Bear False Witness**

“I can’t do this alone.”

It’s a lie. Dean doesn’t really need him for this. Except he does, because he’s afraid this time, and knowing Sam’s in range and safe will help. He needs that. He needs to know that Sam still gives a damn. About Dad. About _them_. About being a Winchester.

“Yes, you can,” Sam says, eyes narrowed. Calling bullshit.

Damn it.

“Yeah, well ... I don’t want to.” That’s as much as he can stand to say.

Sam’s face is neutral. Dean holds his breath. Then,

“What was he hunting?”

Hallelujah. It’s reluctant capitulation, but it’s enough.

**X: Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbour’s House**

He’ll never understand why Sam craves ‘normality’. A nine-to-five job, a house and car and kids – the whole idea freaks Dean out. He can’t imagine staying in one place, doing the same damn thing every day. White picket fencing is his personal gateway to hell.

Sam, though – he’s not going to change his mind. He’s made that pretty clear. Dean knows he’s got to take what he can get now, because once this is over: that’s it. Sam will leave again, and much as he loves his brother, Dean won’t follow him into suburbia.

Not that Sam has ever asked.


End file.
